


No Man Ever Lov'd.

by fightthosefairies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's existential crisis says hi, M/M, Meta stuff, Sad soft angel boy makes things better, Sad soft hunter boy is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 18:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthosefairies/pseuds/fightthosefairies
Summary: One version of how Dean and Cas's big reunion might go, post 15x09.[Bits of spoilers for future eps up to/including 9, so if you don't want to be spoiled, beware!]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	No Man Ever Lov'd.

The bunker’s dark. Light’s out all around, and Sam’s door is closed when Dean passes by. He’ll do it for hours, sometimes - just wander around the place, listening to the soft tread of his boot soles on the fine wood flooring. 

Of course, the entire time, his eyes are darting here and there as he goes, always on the look out for rust, broken locks, cracks in cement, a bit of angelic warding that might need to be re-cast - anything that might compromise the safety of everyone and everything inside. 

He can’t sleep. Might as well make himself useful. 

With the main lights out in the complex, all that’s left are the nighttime lights - larger fixtures set into the ceiling that glow soft, dim white to allow anyone traversing the halls to make their way safely. His pacing steps take him through one after another, and the simple pattern helps soothe his mind and ease some of the near-constant tightness in his chest.

Since Cas has been gone, it’s all he could think to do. He can’t talk to Sammy about it. Can’t talk to anyone about it. The wound is still too tender, and tenderer still because it was self-inflicted. 

Cas will never forgive him. He knows this. He can’t do anything about it, so instead, he stalks the halls like he’s haunting his own life.

For a moment, he thinks he must be hallucinating - whether it’s from the insomnia or the grief, he’s not sure, but he could swear Cas was standing five feet away, caught with a face full of that soft glow and shadows and the rest of the bunker at his back. 

Dean’s fingers curl and uncurl fitfully at his sides, fingers twisting and clenching as his eyes take in the sight.   
  
...** it**_** can't be**_ ...

And, just like that, his thoughts tip into a sharp nosedive - did Chuck send him, like he did Lilith? Or is it another Cas from another time or universe that the Almighty Dickwad himself slung him in here just to make Dean feel even more like shit? 

But Castiel - or whoever it is - stands there for so long and they don’t say a word. They just regard each other silently. 

“You’re _not **real**_,” he chokes out, finally. He swallows hard and his voice is like a bucket of nails and gravel. Angry. “You can’t be. He -- he wouldn’t --”

“Dean,” Castiel says, so softly. He reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat and there, in his hands, is cradled a black cassette tape, which he holds up so that Dean can read the words there. The ones in Dean’s own handwriting. “It is me.” 

And it’s suddenly like someone has flipped a switch and turned off his lungs, like Donatello had done that time. His heart starts hammering and his face crumples, tears welling in his eyes - brimming over and spilling down his face with shocking speed. “I ...” 

His knees suddenly hurt so much and he’s _so tired and he never thought he’d see him again_...

_But he’s here, he’s here, now_ and Castiel is there with him in a blink, arms locking around his shoulders, and Dean buries his face in Castiel’s coat, fingers clutching at the back and holding on. Castiel rocks him, one hand cradling the back of his head while his other hand sweeps over his back in slow, calming passes. “Dean... shhh... no, please, don’t ...”

Instead of quieting, Castiel’s words have the opposite intended effect - Dean’s sobs deepen and for just a moment, he worries he might have to try to wake Sam. He lifts his head, breathing ragged and choked, and hooks his chin over Castiel’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it,” he says, voice a pained rasp in his throat. “I swear to you. I don’t know why -- I don’t know why I opened my mouth and all this _poison _ came out. Cas, I -- I swear, I never --”

“Dean, you don’t have to explain,” he murmurs. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“No, I do, Cas -- I do,” Dean insists as he pulls back, fingers curling into the shoulders of his trenchcoat now, the fabric bunched up tight in his fists. “I owe you everything. You saved me, so many times and I -- I say that to you? To _**you**_?!” He shakes his head, tears dripping from his nose and bottom lip. Reaching up, his hands find their way to the sides of Castiel’s throat, fingers curled there and his skin is just so warm. “Cas, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, trembling. “I’m so sorry, you gotta believe me. Please believe me, _please_...”

Castiel’s eyes are red-rimmed but his expression is tender. “You lost so much, so fast --”

“You, too! _Jack_.”

At the mention of his son’s name, Castiel’s brows furrow, lips shaping into a frown at the pang the memories bring him. With his grace failing, he feels the pain, still - even more raw than before - but...

“So did you, Dean,” he points out gently. “We all lost Jack and then, I -- suddenly, I lost you and ... nothing’s been the same since.”

“God’s back,” he says, voice so quiet even Castiel almost has to strain to hear it, even as close as he is. He feels the numb tide creep over him again and he finds himself staring at a loose thread on Castiel’s lapel. “Or, I guess - actually, he never left. Yeah. This... all this, all that we -- we fought as hard as we could, lost everything we had and all of it, all of it -- we’re just shadow puppets on the cave wall...”

But then there’s a warm hand on his cheek and his eyes refocus, zeroing in on that blue that makes his heart ache and it’s like Metatron’s blade sliding into his breastbone all over again.

“Dean, listen to me. Please listen,” Cas whispers, words a rough grumble. “God can tell his stories. He can write... whatever he wants. He can set the stage, string up the lights and shove us out in front of an audience, but he can’t make us be _happy about it.”_

“Look, don’t do that, Cas, okay? Don’t -- don’t make excuses for me,” he says, rearing back. “What I did to you was fucked up and wrong. I was **wrong**.”

“You were in pain. You still are. I -- I can’t fault you for that,” he says, and it sounds almost like an apology. “I won’t.”

“Y’know, I don’t know what’s worse about all this? The fact I hurt you or that you’re apologizing to me for it, now.”

“Dean --”

“No, Cas. I -- I can’t do it anymore. It’s why I ... why I prayed to you,” Dean mutters, shaking his head at the floor woefully. “I’m so tired. I’m so tired of the round and round and me running away, pushing you away, keeping you at arm’s length because I’m too chickenshit scared to tell you how much I love you.”

Castiel’s mouth falls open again for the second time that night, eyes slowly filling with tears. 

Dean looks up at him, catches his teary eyes, and smiles. Even chuckles a bit. “I’m in love with you, Cas,” he whispers. “Have been for as far back as I can remember. And I know, okay? I know it doesn’t fix any of it.”

_...I wish this changed anything. _

_\- I know. So do I..._

“... It doesn’t fix any of it or change anything at all and I understand why you shouldn’t forgive me. Beacuse you shouldn’t.”

“I do. I already have.”

“But _why?_” The word is torn out of his throat like a snarl. Like he’s angry on Cas’s behalf, that he would forgive him for being so terrible. Such a monster.

Castiel stays right where he is, doesn’t budge an inch. “Because I’m in love with you, Dean Winchester,” he replies, and he sounds so sure, it takes Dean’s breath away. His touch is light but grounding as he carefully brushes away the tears from his face with his thumbs. “And love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove.”

“I --”

“I thought you were tired of running,” he says, so patiently, brows creasing as he watches him. 

Caught, Dean draws in a breath and lets it out in an explosive gust of a sigh. “Force’a habit, I -- sorry,” he says, ducking his head. 

“Dean... please, look at me,” Cas entreats, his palm slipping a bit to cradle his jaw. It takes a good few seconds, but soon enough, the hunter’s gold-dappled green eyes are meeting his and he completely loses track of what he’d been saying. Instead, his eyes stray down to Dean’s lips before lifting to meet his waiting gaze again. “God wrote a tale for you and your brother, bent nature and humanity to suit his twisted craving for control and his own high and mighty amusement. If you believe nothing else I've said, then please believe this: in all our years together, all I ever wanted was to have the privilege to be by your side for as long as you'd have me. With you and Sam, fighting for those who know nothing of the darkness that surrounds them.”

“Cas... come home,” Dean asks, hands slipping to his shoulders, clutching there, swaying in close, parted lips catching against Castiel’s. “Please? Just come home.”

“I’m here, in your arms. Dean, I’m already home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cas's recitation is from Sonnet 116 by Will.i.am Shakeyspeares. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45106/sonnet-116-let-me-not-to-the-marriage-of-true-minds


End file.
